I Will Always Be Here For You
by Mikee
Summary: Complete Chapter 2 is prose, not poetry. I'm not sure it it really is 'tragedy'. Warning: Character Death. Whose death it is, is a little ambigous. You may decide if it is Harry or Sev who died... The one I intended is named in the reviews, but it works f
1. Default Chapter

This poem is the product of my own mind (muddled though it may be). The characters are, sadly, not mine. They belong to J. K. Rowling. I just play with them, and bend them to my will occasionally. Occasionally they see fit to take over the story, and then I am at the mercy of their will.   
  
Warning: Character death.   


**I Will Always Be Here for You **  
By: Mikee   


  
  
I will always be here for you  
I will always care  
You never knew 'twas I who loved you  
You never knew 'twas I who cried  
  
I had always been there when you needed me  
I had always been in the shadows  
Just beyond your view  
Just beyond your reach  
  
I shall always be here for you  
Fresh flowers in hand  
I shall not forget you  
I do not think I ever can  
  
I watched you grow and develop  
I watched you live and learn  
I never saw you loved  
I never saw you love  
  
I shall always be here for you  
As I always have been  
I shall whisper your name to the heavens  
I shall search for you in the stars  
  
I only go on living to honor your quest  
I only go on living because I must  
I only go on living because I know  
Someday we'll be together  
  
I shall always be here for you  
As I always have been  
I shall whisper my love to you  
And on gusts of wind it shall be lost  
  
Harry, my Harry   
As quiet as death's final kiss  
My name lies unspoken  
Upon his lips  
  
I shall always be here for you  
I shall always care  
You never knew 'twas I who loved you  
You never knew 'twas I who cried  
  



	2. Live for Me

Live for Me

By: Mikee

****

Disclaimer: This short story is the product of my own mind (muddled though it may be). The characters are, sadly, not mine. They belong to J. K. Rowling. I just play with them, and bend them to my will occasionally. Occasionally they see fit to take over the story, and then I am at the mercy of their will.

****

Warning: Character death.

…………………

It was six o'clock in the evening. One needn't check one's watch, or listen for the chime of the school clock in the tower to know this. One only needed to look out toward the lake, just beyond the trees, to a small rise of ground and the four-foot high, by three-foot long, slab of marble to know the time.

Yes, it was six o'clock. That was the time at which the man arrived every day. Not a minute before, and not a minute after. He always arrived with one red rose clutched to his chest, and stood in silent communion with the spirit buried there. He would stand, eyes closed, head bowed, for ten minutes; again not a minute more, nor a minute less.

Having paid his respects, and conveyed whatever it was he needed to convey, he would tenderly place the single rose atop the others already adorning the glistening white marble.

Occasionally as he would walk back to the castle, he would marvel how it was the marble always glistened as if wet, no matter the weather. Sometimes he would wonder how the roses remained. It seemed as if there were always just enough to cover the top of the marble, and they never seemed to wilt.

Almost always, though, as he wended his way back to the only place he had ever called home, he would remain lost in thought, lost in visions of days gone by, lost in memories of things not said, and feeling remorse for things said too harshly.

Almost always, as he trudged over the lawn to the great doors, he recounted those last minutes and final words, he saw again empty eyes staring, uncomprehendingly in death, as he tried to speak around the lump in his throat.

Almost always, he whispered to the four winds his apologies for not saying what was in his heart sooner, and for being unable sill to lend voice to what needed to be said … what _he _needed to say.

Almost always …

Just as with all the other days, since the death, the man had arrived at six o'clock, but this time something was different. This time, if one were to look closely, it would appear as if the man wasn't alone. True, there were no other people around that one could see, but his posture, the tilt of his head, the set of his jaw, would lead one to believe he was with another.

Severus lifted his eyes from the inscription on the heavily rose-laden headstone, and slowly knelt on the damp ground before it. The air was chilled, and his breath made soft puffs of steam as his rate of respiration increased, as he gazed at the vision that only he could see, floating beside the headstone.

He didn't hear actual words, not in the way one hears words spoken. He felt them in his heart, and heard them echo within his mind. They were like a warm, soft down-comforter, wrapping themselves around his very being, soothing all the raw emotions, and caressing his soul.

……………………

I see you at my grave, visiting day after day; and day after day, I watch the lone tear course reluctantly down you cheek. I marvel at your steadfast determination to hold true to your promise not to forget me, as you lay rose upon rose atop my headstone.

I hurt every time I hear you whisper my name to the sky, and wonder what can I do to ease your pain … what can I do to convince you to move past my passing … what can I do to impress upon you that I want you to live your life, and not die slowly, grieving my death?

You were always there for me, hidden in the shadows. Rescuing me or intervening as needed, before blending in again into the dark embrace of the shadows.

You were always there for me, to ground me, to lead me, to teach me, and to guide me. Your methods may have seemed uncommonly harsh, but they worked; and in the end, truly that is all that mattered.

How I wish I could be there for _you _now … be there to ease your pain, to banish you guilt, and to comfort you in your despair. How I wish that you knew that _I_ now watch over you. I, along with so many others, who owe you so much, watch over you.

I listen as people tell you not to bother with the dead. They say we are beyond caring, and know not what is done or said in our memory or name.

I rejoice in your response that indeed we, the passed, do know; that the love and honor held within the hearts of those left behind is not lost to the four winds.

It is because of your unwavering faith, and the faith of others, that we _do _know, that we _are _aware; and we do appreciate those we left behind remembering us, and honoring us. _That _has allowed us to guard over you, to watch you, and now, to guide you.

I am gratified when you withhold sarcastic remarks to those who would condemn you for the time you spend at my grave, but it is time to move on. It is time for you to release me to my fate; it is time for you to live -- at last. If you cannot live for yourself, then dear friend, live for me.

Mourn no longer my passing, rejoice instead my rebirth. It is through my rebirth, and in time yours, that all things are made right. All pain alleviated, all needs answered, and all love returned.

I know, dear friend, there are many things for which you blame yourself, many a guilt you have placed upon your shoulders, many a slight for which you have accepted responsibility, and yet there you stand, neither asking for, nor expecting, absolution for your sins.

So without reservation, I can now, with a clear conscious, and a light heart, tell you, I forgive you. You did what you had to do, and you did your best. That's all anyone can ever ask of another. That's all anyone can really ask of oneself.

Go, dear friend, and mourn my passing no longer. You will never forget those you love, nor will they ever forget you. You will never forget me, not will I ever forget you. We shall meet again, and when we do, all will be clear, and you will understand that all is forgiven.

……………….

It was six-thirty in the evening when the man left the grave. He'd broken the tradition of nearly two years, but something had changed. One had only to look to see there were significant changes. He now held his head high, his back was straight, and once again, his robes billowed out behind him ... testament to the changes wrought this evening.

Not far above the grave, if one had the sight, one might see the floating figure of a young man, with mesmerizing emerald eyes, watch the retreating figure of a once-imposing professor as he regained his bearings. If one looked a little more closely, one might just see the hint of a smile on the specter's face.

If one looked closely …

THE END


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